


Expensive Mistakes

by zestyitaliandressing



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Has Issues, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Character Death, Post-Movie: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, Pre-Relationship, Suicidal Thoughts, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-06 22:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13420893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zestyitaliandressing/pseuds/zestyitaliandressing
Summary: Aboard the Quadrant, sleep escapes two passengers.





	Expensive Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags, this deals with some sensitive material.
> 
> This is just my take on that ending, since there wasn't much time to cover the emotional fallout. I didn't rule out that "unspoken thing", but I also didn't really address it, so think of it as pre-relationship.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :)

 

The first few nights were far too quiet. Aboard the Milano, there was never a moment of silence. The Guardians were practically nocturnal, always up at odd hours tinkering or talking. Peter had quickly discovered that the only heavy sleeper aboard was Drax, and sometimes even he would wake in the middle of the night, wracked with nightmares about his family or past battles. Rocket was always away playing with explosives, and the sapling Groot slept fitfully like any child. Gamora was trained carefully to sleep lightly, and Peter, well, he could hardly bring himself to close his eyes most nights.

After the planetary showdown, something had shifted. Rest met the Guardians more easily. Peter started to notice how the only sounds he heard at night were the Quadrant’s grumbles and moans. Something in the ship’s bowels was always banging, clanging, or hissing. There was always a racket to remind the Guardians that their beloved ship was only as mortal as they were.

Peter scowled at the thought. _How ironic,_ he thought.

The Eclector had been no different, if not worse. Metallic clangs were almost always ringing through the ship’s massive interior. There were always more repairs to conduct, more improvements to make. Yondu would enforce the upkeep of the ship with an iron fist. If something happened to the Eclector, he would have the hide of whoever let it go to ruin.

After the Ego fallout, maintenance became a priority. Nearly being blown to pieces or crushed by a killer planet wasn’t kind to the old vessel. Kraglin worked his fingers to the bones to ensure that it kept running smoothly. The loyal first mate was rarely seen when he wasn’t tinkering with parts or repairing what he could. Peter thought it was good for him. Keeping busy wasn’t the worst coping mechanism, and Peter would never think to tear Kraglin from his work. Sometimes, it felt like that was the only thing keeping the former Ravager from throwing himself outside the airlock.

(Peter had raced to one of the ship’s spare rooms one day after a _bang_ had rang through the ship. He found Kraglin covered in engine grease and surrounded by spare parts. He could hear the man swearing under his breath. As Peter left, he heard him say, “Yondu wouldn’t let this shit happen.”)

Kraglin wasn’t the only teammate who was hit hard by Yondu’s death. Peter noticed how Rocket seemed to drag his feet around the ship. He was quieter, less rowdy. He stuck to his projects and kept to himself, only emerging for meals and team meetings. Rocket’s time with Yondu had been short, but Peter could tell that it had stuck with him. Even when he was sulking around, Rocket wouldn’t say a harsh word against anyone. The change was eerie, and Peter was even starting to miss that asshole’s normal antics. Still, he appreciated how Rocket was more gentle with everybody, especially Groot.

The rest of the Guardians were adjusting slowly. Nothing ever held them down for long. Gamora seemed more weighed down than usually. She was quieter, more reflective, but no less sharp than she had always been. Peter figured that any day he would see her back to her old spirits, darting around with an assassin’s instinct. Still, he would catch her sometimes, staring into space and fiddling with her weapon as if she were waiting for someone to appear in front of her. On those days, Peter would leave her alone.

In spite of everything, everyone on the ship had found a way to keep going. Rocket had Groot to care for. Drax had his family to avenge. Mantis had her first real friends to bond with. Gamora had her sister to protect. Kraglin had his captain to honor. Peter had his own thoughts to bargain with.

After his third consecutive night of lying awake, sleep eluding him every time his eyes fell shut, Peter took a walk.

The floor didn’t complain underneath his feet as he paced the ship. Peter had noticed that in space, the only noises he heard came from places he couldn’t see. Back home on Terra, the ground beneath his feet was never quite stabile. Hardwoods floors would creak under his sock feet, staircases would betray him when he crept up and down, and the front porch would always buckle under the weight of the swing he and his mother sat in. Things in space were too sturdy, too permanent, until they weren’t anymore.

It was cruel, Peter thought. On Terra, structures would decay slowly. When they finally gave way and succumbed to the elements, at least people would have had a fair warning. Out here, you could make a slight error and _boom,_ everything you know is blasted to pieces. It was cruel, but at least it was quick.

Peter wondered if that was what Yondu wanted. A quick death. He could hardly imagine Yondu dying a slow, agonising death surrounded by his companions like Peter’s mother had. He tried to picture Yondu in a sterile hospital room, clad in a white gown and surrounded with flowers and get-well cards from fellow Ravagers. Peter shook his head at the image, suppressing a grin. Yondu would have never wanted that. The man had lived and died as a spacer, just as he wanted to, and that helped to assuage some of Peter’s guilt.

But not enough. Never enough.

A glowing orange light dragged Peter’s attention upward. His nervous feet had brought him out to the ship’s airlock. He stared at the hazy forcefield that masked the glittering void outside. With just one push of a button, Peter thought, he could be dragged out into space. His blood would boil, his saliva would evaporate, and his flesh would freeze over. His carcass could drift into the stars, into oblivion. Just like Yondu.

Guilt wracked Peter’s body. Yondu died that exact death just so Peter could live, and here he was thinking about sharing that fate. With his final act, Yondu had sealed Peter’s fate. To tempt that fate would be a betrayal of the highest order.

“Dammit, Yondu,” he cursed under his breath.

The air conditioning system rattled to life in reply. Cool air blew over Peter’s face, chilling the tear tracks that ran down his cheeks.

“Dammit.”

* * *

On the other end of the Quadrant, Gamora lay awake in her bedroll.

In her right hand, she played with a small knife she had found aboard. It was poorly crafted, clearly used for practical purposes. Gamora had been certain to sanitize it before she had taken to fiddling with it when sleep evaded her. Scenarios of what that knife had been used for had flickered through her mind briefly, but she wasn’t deterred. She was certain that she had done worse with her own hands.

Gamora flipped the knife over again and again, alternating between hitting the floor with the blade and the hilt. Every few times, she would catch a glimmer of light on the blade, and even more rarely her own eyes would meet her through the reflection. Each time, the same haggard look stared back.

Tiring of this, Gamora slipped out from under the covers. She slipped her jacket on, grimacing at the cool air that grazed her skin. A change in scenery would do her well, she reasoned.

Just outside her makeshift quarters was the kitchen. Gamora squinted at the space. Bowls and jars laid out, haphazardly scattered across the table and countertops. Her hands itched to organize them, but it would make far too much noise at this hour of night. Gamora could only hope that her teammates had found rest even if she hadn’t.

She stopped by the counter. A bowl of ripe fruit sat out, its sweet aroma wafting through the kitchen. Gamora reached out, then jerked her hand back. _Nebula was so close to tasting these,_ she thought. _It’s not fair to her._

Nothing was fair, Gamora had decided. It wasn’t fair that Thanos had ruined person after person, family after family. It wasn’t fair that Nebula’s life had been stolen from her. It wasn’t fair that her sister was hellbent on bringing destruction as a means to make amends. And hell, it wasn’t fair that Gamora, for a moment, had had everything, only for it to be torn from her hands again.

_It’s not fair,_ Gamora wanted to scream. Instead, she slid the bowl away from her and turned her back on it.

The sweet scent followed Gamora into the hallway. She kept her steps as quiet as a clever Orloni. Her assassin’s gait was usually enough to keep the ship from stirring. They had taken to resting, finding less time to get into trouble. Had this change in behavior followed any other event Gamora might have even welcomed the silence. Knowing what had actually prompted it was enough to make her blood boil.

No one had been spared from the fallout, Gamora had realized, not even Groot. She noticed how even the Guardians’ tiniest member become less active, taking to watching the action from afar. She missed having him underfoot even when his branches became a nuisance. The constant tripping hazard was well worth their friend feeling like himself.

Sometimes, Gamora thought that Groot had been hit hardest by what had happened. Other times, she thought that he was the most well adjusted out of the lot of them.

A soft sound reverberated through the hallway. Gamora froze. The uneven sound grew louder, pouring into the space around her. It almost sounded like crying. Gamora raised her guard and continued.

As the sound grew louder, Gamora slowed her pace. She came out through a doorway and into the airlock chamber. At the base sat Peter, hunched over with his head in his palms.

“Mind if I join you?”

Peter jumped and whipped his head around. Gamora met his red, puffy eyes.

“You don’t have to, I’m fine-”

“Peter.”

Peter sighed. He turned back to face the airlock and patted the ground next to him. “Go ahead.”

Gamora sat beside him. His gaze was fixed on the forcefield, which cast a ghastly orange glow across his tear-streaked face.

“How are you holding up?”

Peter laughed. It came out as more of a hiss. “Honestly? Like shit?”

Gamora offered a sad smile. “Wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head. The silent grated Gamora’s ears.

“Why don’t I start, then?” Gamora said.

Peter held still, then nodded. “That’d be alright.”

Gamora dropped her gaze to the stony floor. “It’s okay to not be over it yet, Peter. I’m not. These things take time, maybe more time than you want to take.”

“What things?” Peter spat. “Accepting that your dad died for you to live? I don’t know if I’ll ever process that, let alone live with it. But he left me with no choice but to live with it. If I died now, then it would all mean nothing. I’m a waste either way."

“You’re not a waste, Peter,” Gamora said. She extended a hand, pressing it to the small of his back. He flinched at the touch, then relaxed. Gamora took the invitation to rub small circles. “Obviously Yondu thought so. Otherwise, he would have taken that suit for himself.”

Peter let out an uneven breath. “I wish he would have. Things would be easier that way.”

“What way?” Gamora leaned closer. “If you were dead? Peter, I can tell you right now that if you had died out there, everyone here would be in a world of hurt.”

“They already are,” Peter said.

“Even more so,” Gamora told him. She pulled him close, pressing their bodies together. She could feel his sobs with every shaky breath he took. “I’m telling you, Peter, you mean everything to these people. Every one of them loves you.”

“So that means Yondu’s life has less value than mine?”

Gamora froze. “That’s not what I meant-”

Peter pushed Gamora’s arm off of him. “Then what did you mean?”

“Peter...” Gamora started. “No one’s life has any more value than anyone else’s. Yondu meant just as much to you as you meant to him. In the end, he had a choice, and he chose you over himself. It’s not a fair choice, no, but it’s the one he made. You can’t change it. No one can.”

Peter stared ahead of him. His expression softened again. “You’re right.”

“Aren’t I always?” Gamora teased. When Peter didn’t even twitch his lips, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close again.

They both sat in silence, letting their chests rise and fall in sync. Gamora watched Peter fiddle with a stray thread on his shirt, letting him steady his breathing.

“I can’t help feeling like this was all somehow my fault.”

“It’s not,” Gamora told him.

“It is,” Peter said. “I trusted Ego. That’s what got us into this mess.”

“You made a mistake. So what?” Gamora said. “Everyone makes mistakes, Peter. It’s part of being alive.”

Peter let out a humorless laugh. “I just wish my mistakes didn’t come with such a large price tag.”

Gamora looked at him. “Yeah?”

Peter lip quivered. She sunk her head onto his shoulders, feeling the way his muscles quaked under her. Gamora let her eyes slip shut, and stars spun around in her vision. She imagined watching the universe swirl around her as she flew a ship by someone’s side. Gamora pictured a familiar woman in the copilot’s seat, snacking on ripe fruits and laughing along with her.

“Me too.”


End file.
